


Metallic Flying Echolocative Mammal (Also Known As The Iron Bat)

by Lionfire42



Category: Batman - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, BAMF Tony Stark, Howard Stark's A+ Parenting, Timeline What Timeline, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-21
Updated: 2016-03-03
Packaged: 2018-03-14 00:45:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3402254
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lionfire42/pseuds/Lionfire42
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In another world, the great Captain America wasn't Tony Stark's role model. In another world, Tony would experience tragedy at a much younger age. </p><p>In another world, a much darker hero would emerge.</p><p>"You see J, Iron Man...he's a target. A shiny target that the big guys love to target in the light of day. And when all the explosions are done, when the day has ended, the smaller criminals, the petty ones, the human ones...they like to crawl out of the woodwork. So that means my job is never done. Because after Iron Man has blown up the big guns...it's time for the Dark Knight to net the rats that scrabble out for the scraps."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

In another world, Anthony Edward Stark grew up striving to be the impossible: the perfect man, the patriotic, heroic, Captain America, the artificial creation of his own father, beloved and mourned, the unfair comparison to Howard Stark’s seven-year old biological creation.

 

In another world, he would live an unhappy childhood, an unsteady teenhood, and eventually, a bitter adulthood. He would drink himself into a few comas, sleep with many women, and eventually meet his childhood idol, the man he both adored and hated, and through trials of fire, become the cocky, brilliant member of a group of super heroes.

 

That’s another world. In this one, things were slightly different.

 

Really, it was Howard’s fault. He’d praised the name of Captain America to the high heavens, but on the night where he and his family planned (read: he ordered) to go to the extravagant new theater to see a limited-spaced Captain America documentary, he’d gotten drunk, yelled at his wife for about an hour, then forced his wife and son to all but flee from the house.

 

So rather than going to the large theater downtown, Maria and Anthony (and Jarvis, of course) ended up in a smaller theater on the outskirts of town. The theater was tiny, but homey, and on that night, their one screen was playing The Mark of Zorro.

 

Tony fell in love.

 

The motion and strength and humanity of the masked, caped hero was a welcome change to the holy, Captain Son of America and Almighty God. Captain America roared into the battlefield, his shield unstoppable and unbreakable. But Zorro, he used not just his strength, but his brains, his guile, his speed and agility.

 

Zorro replaced the Captain as Tony’s idol of worship, much to the fury of Howard. But even his drunken anger could not quell the obsessive fixation of his son.

 

And so, it was this fascination that would lead to young Tony kneeling in the alley behind the theater that started it all a scant eight months later, sobbing as his mother’s hot blood soaked into his suit and stained the dirty, cold gravel at his knees and pearls that still rolled about the ground, trembling with the force of a criminal’s fleeing footsteps.

 

It was this fascination that would change a person, then a city, then the world, forever.


	2. Chapter 2

Howard Stark was a wealthy man, who’d grown up with a loving father and doting mother. He had the resources, the time. Obadiah tended to do more of the actual business transactions, and one of Howard’s inventions could sustain the company for just over half a year before the board demanded something new. In theory, Tony’s childhood should have been amazing.

 

But the shadow of the Steve Rogers hung like a veil over Howard's eyes, and Tony was treated with barely-concealed contempt. His only saving grace, at least in Howard’s eyes, was his obvious intelligence and eventual ability to take over the company.

 

Not anymore it seemed.

 

Howard scowled fiercely as the boy’s tears streamed down his face. It had been a full two weeks since Maria had died and been buried and a week into his increased drinking rate, it occurred to him that his son was crying too much. There were far better things the boy could do with his time!

 

But to his dismay, every time he tried to show Tony blueprints of guns and missiles, the eight-year old’s eyes began to well, and the color from his cheeks drained. He began to shake like a leaf, and Howard ended up yelling in disgust and tossing him out of the workshop.

 

With a snarl at the now-closed door, Howard poured out several fingers of brandy and drowned it in one gulp. Something would have to be done about his boy. He needed to toughen up; Starks were made of iron.

 

Pouring another glass of the amber drink, Howard reached for the phone.

* * *

 

Tony sipped his milk, cold and white. He used to love strawberry milk but…

 

_His mother’s eyes, wide and unseeing, pale fingers clasping the holes in her stomach. Her screams and last words were choked off as she drowned in her own blood-_

 

Blood. There was so much of it…

 

Tony set down his glass. The white reminded him too much of his mother’s skin as her precious life blood pooled around his feet.

 

Jarvis, wonderful, wonderful Jarvis gently picked up the glass and set it in the fridge. Jarvis did not ask questions did not give him the same critical eye that his father did. He was the quiet presence that young Tony had leaned on for the last two weeks. The man held him whenever the visions became too much, had sat beside him and sternly glared at the police who tried to question him at the station. Jarvis beat back the horde of reporters on their lawn with his cutting words, and when they refused to listen, made sure the sprinklers came on full blast on whatever section they camped on, and different intervals of the day.

And even now he quietly put out a slice of bread with butter, silently encouraging his young master to eat something, since Tony had been unable to stomach much of anything recently. With a shy smile, Tony picked up the piece and began to eat, intensely grateful that it didn’t trigger anymore of those horrifying visions.

 

The gentle mood was shattered when Howard bustled into the kitchen. “Jarvis! Go help Anthony pack his bag.”

 

Tony’s stomach lurched. Jarvis blinked, looking up from his wiping. “Sir?”

 

“Tony’s going away for a while,” Howard grunted. He glared at Tony like _his_ decision was his son’s fault, and Tony shrank back, dropping his bread slice back on his plate.

 

“May I ask where?” Jarvis was frowning now, straightening under his employer’s glare and meeting it evenly.

 

“Arkham Academy,” was the short response as Howard turned away to leave.

 

“Arkham Academy!” Jarvis spluttered in shock. “Sir...that’s in New York!”

 

“So?”

 

“Sir, Tony is still in pain. He needs-”

 

“He needs to man up!” Howard bellowed, turning back around and stabbing a thick finger at the manservant. Alcohol had calories, and the once slim, handsome man had gained weight as well as wrinkles over the years.

 

“He needs time and support,” Jarvis insisted. The soldier who’d served in World War II flitted beneath the surface, and Howard simmered at the defiance. Jarvis plowed on regardless. “He needs to talk to people and be given comfort. Sir...he needs his father, not piled-on lessons and isolation. He’s just a _boy_ , sir.”

 

“He a Stark.” Howard gripped his son’s shoulder and wrenched him from his stool. “And Stark’s are made of iron.” He shoved Tony at the door. “Get packed.” He pointed at Jarvis again. “Help him. He leaves tomorrow.” With that decisive ultimatum, the engineer stormed off.

 

Jarvis stood still for several moments, before releasing a broken sigh, and giving a Tony a watery smile. “Come along, Master Tony. Let’s...let’s get you packed up.” He tenderly grasped Tony’s limp hand and gently escorted him up the stairs.

* * *

 

Thirty-seven hours later, a tiny, heart-broken Tony Stark stood in front of the slowly opening gates of Arkham Academy, his luggage heavy and dark.

 

Jarvis hugged him fiercely as a maintenance man came out with a trolley and began loading the trunks onto it. “Goodbye, Master Tony,” he whispered. “I hope you fare well.” Tony felt something press into his side and glanced down as Jarvis pressed a medium-sized box into his hands.

 

A lump formed in his throat. “Thanks, Jarvis.” was the hoarse response, and with one more hug, his faithful friend pulled away and slipped behind the wheel of the Bentley idling on the curb. There was no one else in the car. Howard had hired a pilot to take them to New York on his private plane. He remained in California, drinking the day away. Tony was too young and tired to yet feel resentment about that.

  
He watched the car as it drove away until it disappeared in the distance, and then turned to follow the janitor up the winding driveway of Arkham Academy. The gate close behind him with a soft, final click.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to add in various DC elements, and you will see some DC characters in the next chapter, so be prepared.
> 
> Tony's reactions were based from the traumatic face of young Bruce in the earth One comics after his parent's death. Tony, being slightly more distant from his mother, and definitely more distant of his father, is only slightly less traumatized. Indeed, the psychological damage comes more from Howard's negligence, his continued insistence to push the objects of Tony's pain and nightmares upon him. All this is concluded by him basically banishing Tony because he isn't enough of a "man". That's like a kicking a puppy, bandaging him by sticking band-aids on him, then tossing him out in the street.


	3. Chapter 3

 

He was housed with a boy just about his age, a lanky youth who introduced himself as Edward Nigma without looking up from his newspaper. When the last of Tony’s luggage was hauled in, he was slipped a note telling him get settled in and to come to the Headmaster’s office at eight o'clock the  next day.

 

The room had two beds, two desks and two tiny closets. One, the one furthest from the small, dirty window, was covered in green sheets and scattered scraps of paper.

 

Tony, seeing as the boy, Edward, wasn’t speaking, started to open his trunk, but halted as the boy’s voice suddenly echoed around the room.

 

“What travels around the world but stays in one spot?”

 

Tony blinked, wondering what was going on. Was this some sort of test?

 

“Well?” Nigma asked again finally looking up. His hair was greasy-looking and unkempt and his glasses were slightly crooked.  His face was pale and acne-ridden, and his chapped lips were thin with impatience.

 

“A stamp,” Tony responded slowly and questioningly.

 

Nigma broke out in a grin. His teeth were yellow, but his smile was honest. “So, I finally get a roommate who isn't an idiot. What’s your name?”

 

Tony politely shook the clammy, proffered hand. “Tony.”

 

“Just Tony?”

 

Tony squirmed. “Tony Stark,” he muttered.

 

As he’d feared, Edward’s thin eyebrows shot up to his hairline. “Stark?” he said slowly. “As in weapons Stark? Those Starks?”

 

Tony groaned. “Yes, those Starks. It’s not a big deal…”

 

“Your joking, right?” Nigma hopped off his bed, getting uncomfortably close to him. “You’re a Stark. Plenty of people here come from rich families, but not Stark rich.”

 

“There are other people richer than us!” Tony argued.

 

Nigma frowned in thought. “Well, I heard the Hammer’s sent there kid here. And the Cobblepot’s youngest is graduating this year. Real old family, real old money. Oswald won’t be happy to have either of you here.” He snorted in disgust. “He basically rules the school - I’m lucky I came in during the end of his reign. Get this-he love umbrellas.”

 

“Umbrellas?”

 

“Oh, yes. Has this bunch of them, all with those long pointy tips on them. He looks like some sort of penguin, waddling around in his suits, using his umbrellas like some sort of walking stick.”

 

“Huh.” Tony sat down on his bed, a low hard thing that would a lot more cushioning. “Wait, you’ve been here a year already?”

 

“Yeah.” Nigma reclined on his own bed. “I got accepted here on scholarship - four years, plus one on preliminary study. I should probably thank you,” he continued, and Tony could hear the smirk in his voice. “The Starks give a lot to the scholarship funds here.”

 

Tony’s breath caught. It wasn’t the Starks that gave money to scholarships and charities so much as it had been Maria. Howard had never really cared about that sort of thing, always complaining that the Starks had scraped their way to the top, and so should everyone else. They hadn’t needed handouts, so why should they give them? Maria, though, had come from a lower-middle class family, and so begged for the chance to help those who hadn’t gotten a second chance. Howard eventually gave in to her begging: it would be one of the last time he bestowed a gift upon her.

 

“You should finish unpacking,” Nigma’s voice broke Tony put of his thoughts. “Dinner starts at six, and they don’t want you to be late, even on the first day, so...don’t.”

 

_Shake away the doubts, the fears, the memories._

Tony’s spine straightened. He was in a new place now, sure, but Starks thrived anywhere they went, because they were made of iron.

 

The dining hall was large spacious, with an arching ceiling and gold mosaics gleaming on the walls. Thick polished oak beams with gold carvings, held the ceilings up. Gleaming marble floors reflected the brightness of the chandeliers.

 

Tony sat next to Nigma at one of the dozens of round tables as the hall quickly filled with students of various sizes and ages.

 

“The sixth years sit on the far end,” whispered Nigma, pointing at a dozen or so large boys who had scooted the tables as close as they could to each other and were now laughing and grinning at the euphoria runion brought. One particularly large boy was especially exuberant, his doughy face red with the exertion of jabbing his elegant black umbrella in the air.

 

“That’s Cobblepot,” whispered Nigma, confirming Tony’s suspicions.

 

Before Tony could respond, a gong echoed throughout the dining hall. The upper years fell silent near instantly; the new student kept going for a bit, but quickly realized the gongs significance and went quiet.

 

A man a the head table stood, and Tony unconsciously straightened. The man was well built, with long dark hair and a neatly trimmed mustache. His broad shoulders were decorated with golden tassels, and his dark blue military uniform was covered in various medals. He surveyed the room, dark eyes glinting in the light of the room. his gaze landed on Tony, and the boy couldn’t help the shiver that wracked his frame. This man was powerful, dangerously so.

 

It would not do to cross him.

 

The man blinked and the moment was gone, leaving Tony feeling cold and violated.

 

Turning his gaze to the room at large, the man gave a gleaming, dazzling smile that was probably meant to be charming, but actually appeared hungry and bloodthirsty. “Hello students, old and new,” he called out. “Another year of learning is about to begin. I am Headmaster Vandal Savage, and I welcome all of you to Arkham Academy.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the long wait, but I just couldn't get this chapter to feel right. Oh, well.


	4. Chapter 4

“Let’s move, maggots!”

Tony’s breath was harsh and broken as he struggled to maintain the blistering pace the physical education teacher was demanding they set. Two thirds of the class had already stopped, either collapsing mid-stride or bending over to vomit. Tony would have stopped, should have really. He wasn’t used to running this much; he wasn’t a heavy eater at home, usually preferring to spend as much time in his room, away from his parents as possible, and his circle of friends was essentially non-existent, so he didn’t go out much.

But if he stopped, then Hammer won.

Justin Hammer was a greasy haired boy with a nasally voice, similar to Nigma. But unlike Tony’s roommate, Hammer wasn’t as intelligent as he claimed he was; indeed, he was somewhat of a fool. But Hammer had money and charisma, and the combination of the two meant that within two and half months, he already had a group of friends all bigger, stronger, meaner, poorer, and dumber than him.

Now Tony may have been wanting for more companions (there was only so many times before the riddles posed to him by Nigma could be entertaining) but he was somewhat of a genius, and he had better sense than to join Hammer’s group. Hammer, desperate to put the quieter, smarter, and richer boy under his banner and under his heel, was quick to pick on him.

Things only went downhill from there.

Ripped clothes. Pushes into mud puddles. Food spilled on his pants. Stolen homework. Hammer and his friends did all they could to break him down. They almost started to do the same to Nigma, but Tony, in the first and last time he ever confronted Hammer, quietly ordered him to leave Nigma alone. Hammer laughed, but there was an undercurrent of fear as he looked down into cold, dead brown eyes. Nigma was left alone from that day forth. No one dared pick on him, a fact that he was undeniably gleeful about.

Of course that meant the efforts to bully Tony were redoubled, but Tony simply took it and quietly adapted. He learned the best methods of cleaning, requesting use of the school’s laundry room. He learned to sew and mend, to use ink to cover the fading and the stains. He made several copies of his homework, and hid them in various folder and books. Everything had become normal and Tony had resigned himself to his life at school.

And then Jarvis’ gift was taken from his room.

The box Jarvis had given him contained a marvelous set of steel tools, with bolts and nuts and wires and motors and lights, and steel cylinders and thin iron rods. It was the most   
beautiful gift Tony had ever received. Maria, when she wasn’t too busy, had usually accompanied him to restaurants, but more often had been gone, with only a pre-prepare card as a sign that his birthday was acknowledged. Howard usually just plopped a check down at breakfast when he’s come down for his morning coffee, with a warning for Tony to “not waste it”. Tony never did, never even really used it. At eight years old, his bank account, excluding his trust fund, already exceeded ten thousand dollars.  
Jarvis had known what Tony loved, and in the span of a day, had gone to town and purchased the most durable, well-crafted tool kit he could find.

And Hammer had snuck in his room and taken it.

For the first time, Tony was well and truly furious, and had rushed away in search of the thief, a nervous, frantic Nigma at his heels.  
Hammer had sneered upon seeing a wild-eyed Tony, his clammy hands clutching his ill-gotten prize. His goon’s faces mirrored his. “Looking for something, Stark?”

“Give it back, Hammer.”

“Or what, Stark?” Hammer’s sneer grew larger and crueler. “Going to cry for mommy?”

The corridor, having started to fill with other children, went hush for a moment and then urgent whispering began to echo throughout.

Tony lurched back, Hammer’s words as bruising as a physical blow. Hammer’s chest puffed as he saw his cruel words having the desired effect. “It was all over the paper, you know. How your mom got gunned down like some common…street wench!” 

The whispering increased in value as people filled each other in. Many were starting to eye Hammer in barely disguised contempt, but did nothing to step in. Even his own circle was looking sported looks ranging from confused conflict to apprehension, and it only got worse as Hammer kept going.

“Can’t see why you’re not dead, Stark. Nothing special about you. Surprised you mom didn’t try to use you as a meat shield.”

Tony had gone numb, his eyes unseeing. He heard none of the gasps of disbelief around him, but he certainly heard as Hammer went in for the kill.

“Bet you paid the crook off to save your sorry hide, probably pulled the trigger yourself, didn’t you, St-“

Tony’s fist made its first, sweet, beautiful introduction to Hammer’s bony jaw.   
What occurred could only be described as pandemonium. Hammer’s henchfriends leapt forward the moment Tony’s blow made contact. Nigma, coward that he was, leapt back, only to be pushed forth as incensed bystanders rushed forward, both to offer aid to the Tony and to land a hit on the rather annoying Hammer. Some craftier opponents used the opportunity to settle old scores, and dozens of smaller battles erupted around the corridor.

Tony had been pinned by three boys twice his size and weight and was starting to black out from the weight on his chest when a hiss of warning echoed throughout the hall, and half the crowd disappeared. A beat later, Headmaster Savage swept into the corridor, and all went silent. Cold eyes surveyed the boys, sprawled over the floor in various displays off disarray.

“Sir-“ Hammer began. Savage silenced him with a twitch of his fingers. The boys over him stood up, and Tony could breathe again. Savage’s eyes landed on him and Tony shuddered.

“Disgusting.” Savage glared at them all once more before turning away. “Report to the Nurse if any of you are seriously injured. Other, go to Mr. Sanef; he will notified of your punishment.”

Which lead to this: Tony and a dozen and a half other boys being forced to run until they died or threw up a lung.

Unfortunately, it seemed that despite his lanky frame, Hammer could run pretty well and pretty far. Tony wasn’t lazy, but he was by no means athletic either. Nonetheless, he took to the challenge, jogging at a steady pace from the get-go as the other boys, Hammer included, rushed forth, trying to beat each other rather than save their strength. Within twenty minutes, most went bent over double, and only a few remained standing. 

Mr. Sanef had the look of your stereotypical gym instructor: thickly muscled, with a face quick to redden, a neck as large as a bulls and a bark louder than that of a German Shepard’s. He took unholy delight in the breathless, almost inaudible sobs of his students, and was as much a bully as any of Tony’s enemies. And he was almost over the moon with glee as Hammer and Tony went head-to-head.

“Run boys, run!” The wall of a man crowed. “Run ‘till you drop! Hell, maybe I’ll even convince the dean to lessen the winner’s detentions!”

Hammer’s red face went scarlet as he fruitlessly attempted to wring more energy out of his worn frame. Tony continued with his pace. _Slow and steady. Slow and steady…_

_“And though the hare tried, he could not win the race,” Jarvis read. Tony could feel himself growing sleepy, lulled by the weight of sheets, and the warm of his skin, still slightly damp from his bath, and the soothing refined tones of his butler’s voice. “For his arrogance had cost him victory, whilst the tortoise’s persistence granted him victory.”_

_“Howard says that slow pokes end up becoming poor blokes.”_

_Jarvis tutted. “Not always, young master. There is a time for speed yes, but also a time for strategy and cunning.”_

_Tony frowned. “But Captain America was fast, the fastest! He would race in front of the army and win the battle!”_

_“As powerful a man he was, he was but one. He was quick, and strong, but there were others who were above him, who commanded him. They were not always on the field, but they were just as important.” Jarvis looked beyond him, lost in thought, or perhaps memory. “As great a man as he was, he would have been nothing if there weren’t those with the cunning and skills to guide him.” He shook himself from the fog and smiled gently at Tony. “Remember: it takes great courage to leap into battle, but it takes just as much courage, or perhaps more so, to stay back, weigh the risks and rewards, to plan and plot and create a plan of battle—and then to leap forward regardless.”_

A toe nudging into his ribs brought Tony back to himself and he was surprised to find himself on his knees, gulping for air. He blinked through the sweat and the glare of the setting sun into Nigma’s sallow face.

“Come on, Tony,” he coaxed, tugging on Tony’s arm. “It’s Friday so you’ll have time to rest all day tomorrow. Bed’s got to be better than here.”

“Hammer?”

Nigma peered somewhere past Tony’s shoulder. “Got dragged to the nurses’ office by some of his Neanderthals. Left a rather unsightly puddle of bile behind, though. Oh, here.” He picked up something off the ground as Tony stood on shaky legs. The welcome sight of Jarvis’ gift made him blink as tears rose n his eyes. “I managed to convince some people to convince Hammer’s roommate to cough it up. It was surprisingly easy. Most people thought that idiot had crossed a line with—you know….”

Tony only clutched the hard-fought bundle to his chest and staggered away, struggling to keep the memories bound.


End file.
